


Decency's Overrated

by withaflashoflove



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-10 18:30:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8928358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withaflashoflove/pseuds/withaflashoflove
Summary: A reunion between two lovers who had a summer fling...





	

**Author's Note:**

> It helps to listen to Closer by The Chainsmokers while reading it (or before). The fic is crafted to fit the lyrics.

“I don’t know if this is very… _decent_ ….”

He lets out the last word with strenuous effort because the way she was kissing his neck and the way she was rolling her hips on his lap made it hard to breathe, let alone speak.

It wasn’t the most comfortable position, nor was it the most decorous. Having sex in the backseat of her Rover with the top down, that was. Not while they were parked somewhere along the countryside with the sun glaring from the sky, with the breeze of the wind making his skin shiver. Or maybe she was doing that to him.

She bites him again, softly, but enough to get him to wrap his arms tighter around her waist in preparation for another round of _it’s-been-too-long-since-the-last-time-we-did-this._ He wasn’t expecting to find the girl he had a summer fling with in the hotel bar, looking as pretty as ever and drinking alone.

Nothing good was supposed to come out of this conference. Real life didn’t happen like the movies. It wasn’t magic. It was supposed to be a lot of chemicals and molecules and laboratory analysis techniques. It wasn’t supposed to be fucking the love of his life in his hotel room. Then in hers. Then in the hotel swimming pool. Then taking a road trip back home together because _why_ _fly_ _back when you can get a free ride?_ and gave them the chance to do this.

Gave her the chance to lick his mouth open with her tongue. Gave her the chance to run her hands down his chest, whispering _when did you get abs?_ into his ear. Gave her the chance to straddle him in the countryside, out in the open, for the world to see.

Not like he cared. 

He’d be lying if he said that wasn’t the best summer of his life. Two years ago, his first year out of college (and apparently hers as well). The way they met was coincidence. Her dad happened to be the captain of the precinct he was working at. And one day, she happened to stop by to bring Joe lunch and coffee before making eye contact with the young CSI who happened to be watching her like she was the most beautiful person to walk the earth.

And he _was._ Because _she was._ In her tight green dress that was hugging her curves and her high yellow heels and her damn perfume that made a place that normally smelled like criminals and gun residue smell like vanilla and the ocean breeze.

He’s pretty sure he used that pick up line. Thankfully she laughed and told him, with the most mellifluous voice he’d ever heard, never to use a pick up line on her again, or she’d drop him faster than he could try again.

So he went for a question instead. _Drinks after work?_

And drinks after work led to _kissing_ after work which led to _fucking_ after work which led to _waking up together_ after work which led to _Allen, why did my daughter spend the night at your_ _place?_ during work the next day which led to  _don’t worry about my dad; we’re just having fun_ during lunch that next day, where they had sex again, on his desk, in the middle of the workday, but he didn’t care.

He didn’t care that she had him wrapped in the palm of her hand, around her finger, spinning him around like a basketball for the next two months. Something about her was infatuating and salacious and he couldn’t get enough of the way she tasted, of the way she smelled, of the way her skin was soft against his and the way his mouth glided against it and the way she was all smooth and all fun and not complicated and so mystifying that he was mesmerized every time he saw her face.

 _You’re leaving?_ he’d asked her, in the middle of then lying on his bed in the depth of the night, after they decided to order takeout and spend the time they should’ve been sleeping _not_ sleeping.

 _I am leaving,_ she’d responded, like it was the most casual thing she could ever say, with no tremble in her voice or longing in her eyes, and he felt his heart drop with disappointment because even though they’d agreed to this and he knew she wasn’t staying in the city forever and knew she had a life after here and Iris wasn’t someone who could be contained, wasn’t someone who would settle down without figuring life out first, without traveling and discovering and learning, and then maybe coming back to a city that was too small to fit all of _her_ , he would still miss her.

He was still hoping somehow he could change her mind, if he held her tight enough or hugged her long enough or kissed her hard enough.

He remembered wanting to say something else, but he was pretty sure she pulled him on top of her instead, and his mouth ended up doing everything else besides talking. 

One week later, he was telling her goodbye while she hopped in the same Rover they were sitting in now, wearing shorts that left too little to the imagination and a tank top that showed off her black bra, wearing more bracelets than he could count, wearing an anklet that he’d given her as a promise that they’d find each other again. He swore she was shaking in his arms when he kissed her forehead.She’d told him _I’ll_ _miss you, but this isn’t the end._ That was another thing about Iris: she was a lot more optimistic than he was. A lot more confident. A lot more vibrant. 

He wanted to believe her.

But then the car took off and he didn’t want to come home for the next year because everything still smelled like her.

He should’ve told her he loved her then.

And now, two years later, he just happened to find her in the hotel bar of a place neither of them lived in, under the night lights of a metropolis too large and a sky too dark, with only the moon having enough luminescence to stay visible amidst the chaos of the city buzz. He hadn’t noticed her at first, too concentrated on finding a pen that fell out of his notebook. He had needed a drink because there were too many molecular structures the conference had taught him and that was another way he forgot about Iris, by studying science like it was his only lifeline, by trying to figure out why chemistry was so easy to draw but so hard to understand, by writing and rewriting formulas and drawing and redrawing stereoisomers and learning which ones he’d have to combine together to recreate her smell, to bring back her taste to his mouth…

Which was when he felt a hand on his back and then her arms wrapped around his neck and he felt like he was home. 

He carried her all the way to his hotel room. She held him the entire rest of the night, kissed his tired eyes asleep, ruffled his hair when the sun greeted them, stayed the weekend with him, just like the summer they were together two years ago.

 _You never called_ , she told him when he was kissing the tattoo on her shoulder in her room the next day. _I waited for you to call._

And he told her how much he wanted to but how much it’d break his heart if she didn’t come back (not like it wasn’t already broken) and how he didn’t know how to handle distance because the only place he wanted to be was next to her.

So she told him _I’ll stay._

And he looked at her like she was a miracle and she smiled big, all white teeth and shine and he asked _yeah?_ and she said _yeah, CCPN hired me; I’m coming home._

Which led them to here. To making out in her car in public even though he knew her dad was a cop, even though him and her dad were good friends now and this could potentially ruin their entire relationship again, but he’d risk it. 

Because she was still beaming at him. And he was happy.

“Decency’s overrated,” Iris answers with a little laugh and another kiss to his lips.

“Mmm, you taste like coffee,” he replies with his own laugh, chasing after her lips before she pulls away too far and pushes her hands against his chest.

“You never liked coffee much.”

“I used to hate it,” he says honestly, “but then I met a girl who always tasted like it and it grew on me.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he confirms and his lips curve upwards when she leans in to place another kiss to the corner. 

“We should get more coffee,” Iris hums into his jaw, “it’ll be another few hours before we get home.”

And that’s when he pulls away because the word _home_ sounds so much better when she says it and he still can’t believe that he found her again, after all those years of trying to move on, knowing that he’d never be able to move on from her, knowing that she’s coming back to the place they met and that she wanted to give it a shot as much as he did.

So he asks again, all dumbfounded and bashful, “you’re coming home?”

Her eyes glisten, the sun reflecting off them, giving her a special kind of glow, one he hadn’t seen in ages, and she scrunches her nose and bites her lip, before bringing her hands to play with his hair, that signature move that she used to always make when they were alone on his mattress, in between blankets and pillows with nothing else in mind except the both of them.

“I already am,” she smiles, “I already am.”


End file.
